


maybe we started this fire

by slickandprettythings



Series: sylvix week 2019 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Lowercase, M/M, POV Second Person, Spoilers for Crimson Flower Route, Sylvixweek2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 12:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21016025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slickandprettythings/pseuds/slickandprettythings
Summary: gronder is burning.





	maybe we started this fire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sylvix Week 2019, Day 1 - Childhood / promises / reunion.

gronder is burning.

gronder is burning and the heat goes straight to your head, rendering every damn thing hazy and unfocused. the air shimmers around you, ash and dust and burnt grass getting into your hair, your eyes, your robes but you hardly notice. you don’t have time to waste. 

you don’t have time to waste because this is war and sylvain is on the other side of the battlefield, lance of ruin glittering in the flame, a monstrous thing, stained with the blood of your comrades. you hate the way your breath stutters at the sight of him, still, even after all these years, even after you decided to leave him and everything else you once swore to protect behind. 

soft brown eyes stray to meet yours just as your sword slashes across a kingdom soldier’s throat.

a flick of your hand and the gore splatters onto the ground. sylvain is still looking at you, even while he cuts through the imperial army with the ease of a seasoned knight. you don’t realize what it means immediately, because this is war and you cannot let anything distract you from the singing of your sword, the screams of your enemies. you don’t realize what it means until the hooves of his horse come into your tunnel vision.

_ ‘hey felix.’ _

sylvain greets you with the same annoying cheer, like the last five years were just a fever dream, like both of you hadn’t changed at all, but his smile grates at you and you realize it’s one of those that don’t quite reach his eyes, the ones he puts on to lure other people into thinking he’s got himself together. you hated it back then and you still hate it now. the only difference is you have grown too tired of pulling his teeth, of telling him to quit it and show you what he really feels for once in your fucking lives.

_ ‘remember when we were kids and we made a promise about dying together?’ _

_ ‘i remember.’ _

you do. of course you do. you can fool yourself that you don’t live to collect regrets, but the ghosts of your father and brother and every single classmate you killed in edelgard’s name whisper to you every time you close your eyes. the irony isn’t lost on you - all this time you claim to hate dimitri and yet you’re becoming him, you’re becoming the very thing you despise the most. 

_ ‘well, seems we’re about to kill each other_,’ says sylvain, always stating the obvious, so fucking redundant that you have half a mind to scoff. you don’t, for fear of it turning into a hysterical laugh. 

rodrigue is floating right behind your childhood friend, quiet and solemn. you wonder if sylvain could feel him, wonder if today is the day sylvain becomes one of the ghosts that haunt you. 

but it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t matter because this is war and killing is what you do, the only thing you’re ever good for anymore. if you had been afraid of every shadow, every groan and moan of the damned and the dead, you wouldn’t have walked down this path at all.

_ ‘sorry, sylvain_,’ you steady your grip and fall into stance, a predator ready to strike, all the while trying not to think about how this may be the first and last time you will ever apologize to him. ‘_you’ll die first_.’

you raise your sword. some distance away, you think you can hear a guttural sound, something very much like dimitri shouting edelgard’s name.

but sylvain isn’t looking at you.

sylvain isn’t looking at you and it’s a deadly mistake. doesn’t he know you won’t hold back, even if it’s him, _ especially _ when it’s him you are about to fight? his wide-eyed gaze falls on a spot behind you and before you can question the validity of that action, his horse soars right through you and you’re momentarily blinded by his armor’s reflection.

you turn around and suddenly, blood everywhere. warm and wet, on your face and on your chest, and sylvain is tumbling down from his horse before you could wipe the liquid from your eyes, a lance protruding from his ribcage. you get rid of the alliance soldier out of pure instinct, an unfathomable rage welling up inside of you at the sight of her bleeding out on the grass. 

you cannot hear anything, you realize. everything seems to have fallen quiet around you, and your hands feel numb inside your gloves as your knees hit the ground next to where sylvain lies. 

he smiles at you with bloodied, uneven teeth and you distantly think you cannot owe him like this, you cannot owe him any more than you already do. this isn’t how things were supposed to go. this isn’t how things were supposed to go but then again everything between both of you has always been like that. 

_ why_, you choke on the syllable, choke on all the emotions you have tried for years to suppress. you aren’t sure what you’re asking. there are a million of _ why‘_s in your head but you’re running out of time, _ he _ is running out of time and neither of you can do anything to stop the process. 

_ ‘sorry, felix,_’ sylvain wheezes, a poor echo of your earlier apology, the corners of his mouth twitching in between bouts of pain. ‘_you wanted to kill me... and i couldn’t even leave the honor to you_.’

_ you could’ve let me die_, you don’t say. _ you could’ve let that soldier deal the final blow, pierce my heart to smithereens, steal my last breath._

you don’t say any of those things because sylvain has already done all of that without knowing.

_ ‘you fool,’ _ you say instead. _ ‘you utter fool. get up and fight me like a man, you weakling.’ _

the half-wit has the nerve to chuckle, which turns into a wet cough. 

_ ‘seems i’ll die first, after all,’ _ sylvain breathes, and you realize - belatedly - that you’re afraid. you’re afraid, and angry, and your entire body has gone cold despite the heat.

_ ‘i’ll never forgive you,’ _ your words blur around the edges, and not for the first time you curse the way tears find their way to your eyes so easily. _ ‘i’ll never, ever forgive you.’ _

_ for saving me when i did not ask you to. for leaving me like this. for not taking me down with you. _

sylvain smiles.

there is nothing beautiful about death.

  


gronder is burning.

gronder is burning, and the last of your soul burns right alongside his.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Bastille's Things We Lost in the Fire.


End file.
